The Tale of the Opera Ghost
by edka88
Summary: The story should have remained buried beneath the Opera House yet Erik decided to reveal it to a very precious person.


**The Tale of the Opera Ghost**

The sound that was coming from the music room was unusual in the house. Hesitant, fumbling, single notes were played on the piano, missing the right tune several times. It was obvious Erik couldn't be the source of that so Christine walked towards the room suspiciously, finding that her daughter was sitting on her father's lap, concentrating very hard on her tiny fingers before pressing the right keys. The picture what Christine saw made a bright smile appear on her lips: as much as Erik was against the very idea of having a child at first he very much loved his daughter and even if he had no previous experience with children he got along with her well enough.

When her daughter noticed Christine in the doorway, she proudly exclaimed: "Mama, look what I've learnt!"

She played the earlier notes again, now with a little more confidence.

"It's a C scale, you know," she explained officiously afterwards, plainly basking in her own success and Christine couldn't deny a compliment from her shining daughter.

"Papa taught me that," the girl added before jumping effortlessly from her father's knees, ending the conversation shortly by running away.

Christine looked back dreamily at her husband but instead of finding him equally enchanted by their child he sulkily marched towards the front door. She hurried after him alarmed.

"Where are you going?" She asked breathless but his answer was a simple and sullen:

"Out."

"What's wrong?"

"I have to go."

"Is something wrong? What happened?"

"Nothing." He grabbed his cloak from the hanger and draped it over his stiff shoulders.

"Wait!" She gripped his arm with unyielding fingers. "You can't just leave… like this," she wheezed and saw with utter relief how he hesitantly reached for the clasp and slowly put the cloak back. Yet he didn't explain himself, he didn't count excuses; he walked back into the drawing room but suddenly he turned back to the door then turned again before he reached it, finally picking up a rhythm of a harassed pacing. For minutes, the only sound in the room was the dull thud of his steps and his uneven breathing.

"I told her."

His grave voice startled Christine and at least five things run through her mind what she didn't want her daughter to know about yet. When Erik used his tone like that it usually indicated something she didn't like at all, yet she couldn't help but ask: "What?"

"About the Opera Ghost."

"You did what?" She staggered back, searching for any kind of support for her suddenly weak knees and even breathing proved to be difficult in that moment. "Why? Why now? It's so… soon, for her… she's far too young to understand any of that," she stammered while violent thoughts ran through her mind. How many details did he share with her exactly?

"You should have come in earlier when I haven't known that. Now it's a little late, I suppose." He gave a small, bitter laugh as he leaned heavily on a table. Should he have another chance, he certainly wouldn't do that again.

"Why did you tell her? You could have waited a little until…" Her voice trailed off timidly; seeing his haunted expression she decided it wasn't the best time to reprimand him for unthinkingly telling his story to their little daughter. That was true that they agreed long ago that she had to know about it eventually but to Christine it meant a lot longer time than it obviously did to Erik. For minutes, she waited in vain for an explanation.

"I… I'll speak with her," she decided abruptly. "I will go and tell her that it won't change anything, that you're still her father who'd do anything for her and…"

He cut her off rudely. "No! Don't. If you protect me that would assure her assumptions that I'm really such a monster she thinks me right now. Stay here."

"Then what? What do you want me to do?"

"Don't tell her anything. I… I'll do it. Some time."

Taking a deep breath, she decided to agree with him. That was definitely one of the most delicate situations she felt responsible to handle in her life, ever. She was terrified to think about what effect the 'story' would have on her little girl and at the same time, she was faced with the evident effect what telling the story had on her husband. Realizing that her husband did something heedless wasn't a particular event in her life but realizing that he did something heedless what involved her daughter, it was. Seeing him angry wasn't new, either; his first reaction to anything was always anger but his non-ceasing shaking, his shallow breathing and that familiar, dangerous burning in his eyes convinced her that he needed her right now, even if he wouldn't admit it.

"Will you tell me why you told her the tale of the Phantom?" She asked gently. Minutes ticked by in complete silence without any uttered word from either of them and Christine started to think that he would just ignore her and walk away, as he wanted to do in the first place.

"She wanted to know why I stick to the masks so much when I'm going out," he began, his voice lacking its usual resonance. "Is it not obvious enough?" He turned to her, waiting for her affirmation and at the same time, begging with his eyes to reassure him about her acceptance. No matter how many years they were married or how many times did she tell him, he always needed to hear that she loved him.

"For her it's not. She sees you as her brave and talented father, not the Phantom. You know that."

"Not anymore," he mused darkly but at her questioning look, he hesitantly continued. "I wanted her to know it from me. I wanted her to know how it happened, not to learn some twisted story about the Phantom from a stranger. Not if it's not twisted enough already," he added.

"You told her… everything?"

"Sort of… yes."

"What do you mean 'sort of'? You couldn't possibly told her the," she swallowed with great difficulty before finishing the sentence. The idea that her little girl heard about her father's sins was suffocating and the fact that she didn't have a chance to take his words back made her feel helpless beyond anything. "The murders."

"I didn't want to tell her that part. I told her instead that I did things I shouldn't have but later she asked about them and wanted to know if I meant that I've killed."

"And you…?" She asked but wasn't sure she wanted to hear his answer, too afraid that he'd confirm her darkest fears.

"I answered. Now that I began I couldn't stop; I wanted her to know without leaving her with ideas she could… misinterpret."

"And what was your answer?" Furtively she prayed that he would have just lied to her; in that moment even lying seemed a better choice than to let her know the truth. There would be time to teach their daughter those things later.

He closed his eyes before giving her the answer and his voice was so soft she almost didn't hear it. "I said yes."

She didn't see him that miserable for a very long time. He was trembling with visible self-hatred, probably envisioning every single moment of those troubled days, replaying them in his memory but she didn't want him to do that. She didn't want him to dwell on something he wasn't able to change or undo or remove from his past. These were horrible parts of his life but she accepted him with fully aware every of those sins; though seemingly that was what he cared the least in that moment. His fists were clenched so hard his knuckles became white and seeing his expression she severely worried that he'd harm himself in some way if she let him leave the room. She warily walked towards him.

"You still don't want me to talk to her?" She asked, placing one hand soothingly on his arm. His whole frame was rigid beneath her fingers but some of the tension left him at her touch.

"No."

"She didn't seem frightened when I came in," she offered timidly while her eyes held his.

"Yes; she must be just happy with the knowledge that her father isn't half as a good person as she thought him to be."

"What did she say?"

"Nothing."

"How do you mean 'Nothing'? You didn't speak after that?"

"She said nothing!" He snapped but then his eyes lifted to her guiltily before he continued somehow calmly. "She didn't… comment it, if that's what you mean. She didn't run away with fear nor did she cry as I expected her to do. She merely asked me to play the piano and to teach her. What's wrong with her?"

"Are you angry with her?"

"No." He fell silent and the earlier helplessness returned to his eyes, something that only Christine was allowed to witness and who could handle the heavy liability what came with it perfectly.

"She doesn't care about it, Erik. She loves you." Christine stepped closer to him, moving her arms around his waist. "I love you, too."

A deep sigh was all his answer but she felt his arms diffidently going around her frame. It never ceased to amaze Christine how her acceptance could comfort him in any situation.

"May I look for her now? You won't leave, will you?" She asked moments later.

Erik was already halfway to his study when her words stopped him. "No," he answered without turning and in that moment they noticed the soft sound of a very little somebody approaching. Erik wanted to leave immediately but Christine pulled him back, providing encouragement to him with the flimsy press of her fingers against his. Their daughter stopped right before her father, looking up at him while holding a piece of paper in her grimy hands. Christine felt his uneasiness and asked their girl about the paper for him.

"I've brought this for Papa," she declared matter-of-factly and when Erik didn't respond to that Christine gave a little tug on his arm and he crouched warily in front of her daughter.

"You seemed so sad earlier," she began, tucking a lock behind her ear. "You never let me be sad and I don't want you to be sad, either, so I've drawn you this." Her tiny hands gave him the paper and he took it with trembling fingers. When he examined the picture, unwanted and non-allowed tears threatened to escape from his eyes; his daughter had never seen him crying before and he intended to keep it that way. However, before the tears could fall, she gave him a quick kiss on his cheek and she was already out of the door, leaving him kneeling on the floor.

"Would you show me what it is?" Christine asked and he handed her the picture without further prodding and he lifted himself from the floor, reeling. The painting was a quick one, a hastily prepared picture but it wasn't the quality what appalled him but the little girl on it, hugging a tall, masked man. She shouldn't have loved that man, not when it was him who – besides that he was a wanted criminal in the city for years – obviously had no idea how to raise a child.

"I told you she loved you," his wife whispered enthralled, her voice matching his emotions. There was only one word he could think to say.

"Inexplicable."


End file.
